“The paper and the engraving are official, Evelyn,” Clara whispered, looking at me with a soft, tired expression. “But these stamps are unusual.”
“Can we deposit them today?” Raymond asked, interrupting before she could finish. “We need the electronic transfer initiated by tomorrow morning.”
Clara shook her head slowly, placing the magnifying glass back on her blotter.
“I cannot accept these for deposit without verification from the regional compliance office,” Clara whispered.
I looked at the stack of bills on her desk, the violet arrows pointing toward the margins, feeling the weight of my father’s mysteries.
The next morning at nine o’clock, I sat in Clara’s office at Shelby County Trust.
The hum of the old desktop computer from 2012 was the loudest sound in the small room.
Clara took off her thick reading glasses, revealing the pale, tired skin around her eyes.
She polished them with her blue microfiber cloth, her movements slow and deliberate.
“I went back through the transaction records from the 1980s, Evelyn,” Clara whispered.
“Did you find any domestic cash deposits matching that sum?” I asked.
